Dear Diary,

I’m NOT talking to Momma and you can’t make me.  Just sayin’.  We arrived in a placed called Atlanta a couple of days ago and are staying with my human aunt and uncle.  It’s a nice house but apparently Momma believes there are rules for me to follow.  You’re gonna laugh your ass off when you read this.

Rule 1:  I’m not allowed on the kitchen counters.  – I never followed this rule at home.  Why would I start now?

Rule 2:  I’m not allowed to go upstairs.  – That lasted about two minutes.

Rule 3:  I’m not allowed to be rude.  – I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.

Rule 4:  This is Max’s house.  – Who the hell is Max?

Even though I’m NOT talking to Momma, I did ask her about Max.  She told me that Max is the house cat.  Really?  I don’t think so.  This Max cat hasn’t even made an appearance.  If he was a REAL cat, he would have come downstairs and greeted me.

Momma asked me what I would do if Max did greet me.  I told her I would walk right up to Max, sniff him, hiss at him, knock him over, and slap him several times.  Then I would look him right in the eye and say, “There’s a new sheriff in town and it sure as hell isn’t you.”

I don’t care what house I’m in, whether it’s mine or not.  I AM the Supervisory Cat-in-Charge!